“Everything has been said,” the woman proclaimed from across the room as if drunk. She drew closer to the dining table where a young artist sat preoccupied with his novel and a finished cup of tea.
“How do you mean, ‘everything has been said’?” His eyes remained on the page.
“Precisely that. Every story that could be told has been. Every portrait that could have been painted was. That novel in your grasp—it has already been written, many times over…